


Punks and Suits

by nightfever



Category: Limitless (TV)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Crush at First Sight, F/M, Fluff, Hostage Situations, NZT, Nerdiness, Weird Plot Shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 16:07:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20230600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightfever/pseuds/nightfever
Summary: While he may have been a suit, Jason aka 'Ike' couldn't deny his attraction to the pink haired, know it all punk that may as well have been on NZT. Not only did her eyes glimmer like she was on the drug, but her whole beaming face, though he couldn't tell if it was the light shining off her piercings or the copious amounts of highlighter she insisted was make up enough.





	Punks and Suits

Of course television made getting shot look easy. But the task at hand was more important than a mere flesh wound. The Cross Jurisdictional Command had the highest rating of case turnover in terms of warrants and arrests, a clear indication of a task force capable of putting together whatever loose ends didn’t come together. Robin had, of course, suspected foul play since the numbers were extraordinary and had gone through whatever records she had found herself to make sure the conclusion seemed to fit.

Thus, she had found herself on the tail end of an adrenaline rush and growing impatient as she spoke with the receptionist about her meeting with Nasreen Pouran, trying to explain that, yes, she knew that their meeting wasn’t until Tuesday, but it was an emergency, no, the emergency couldn’t wait.   
Robin, exhaled, trying to think as her thoughts muddled through her synapses, when her eye caught someone she supposed was an agent swiping their card to get through glass gates; gates that were only waist high and easy to jump. Pouran’s office was on the sixteenth floor, and while she wouldn’t be able to make it up the stairs in time, Robin suspected that whatever floor she stopped the elevator at would have a host of agents waiting for her.

Bouncing on her toes, Robin watched as the doors to an empty elevator stood open, then after a few seconds began to shut. Launching herself with speed she didn’t know she possessed and a plan she didn’t have, she easily cleared the gates and propelled herself into the elevator, doors only missing the zipper of her jacket as it closed. Sighing, Robin tilted her head back and let her eyes close before slamming the button for the second floor, then, after a moment jabbed all the buttons. She had tucked the front of her shirt in to look more presentable, then tried to wipe the pain and exhaustion from her face as she adjusted her jacket and stepped out of the elevator. An ache had begun to settle in Robin’s bones as her skull pounded, focusing instead on a reason to be in the building should she be asked and regretting her pink hair. Considering how often she was mistaken for a highschooler, she reckoned she could pass for a teenaged daughter.

A tired looking woman in a suit gave Robin a cursory look,

“Aren’t you a little young to be in the building?”

With a feigned smile that she prayed didn’t come off as pained, Robin said her dad had left his personal cell at home, stepping into the elevator with her and three other suited men. The brunette asked which floor Robin was heading to and hitting the accounting floor, which much to Robin’s luck was thankfully thirteen.

“You’re Peter’s daughter, aren’t you?” the brunette asked,

Of course, the balance to Robins luck was a potential game over conversation.

“Yeah! Does he talk about me?” 

“All the time! He’s so proud of you,”

Robin smiled at the fact somewhere in the building, her faux father was happily telling coworkers about his real daughter.

At the eighth floor, two of the suited men stepped off, momentarily raising the pressure in Robin’s blood, though she calmed slightly once the doors closed.

On the eleventh floor, a woman clutching manilla folders to her chest stepped into the elevator, and Robin couldn’t tell if her breath caught in her throat because of nerves or bloodloss. Stepping onto the thirteenth floor, she found the door to the emergency stairwell and began her ascent, already annoyed with herself at her lack of exercise. Halfway to the fifteenteenth floor, Robin registered the slam of heavy doors and shouting and hastened her pace.

Bursting onto the sixteenth floor out of breath, Robin’s gaze flitted around each of the offices until she recognised the name she was looking for outside an empty office. Thanking her desire to be prepared, Robin looked for a head of short curly black hair and failed to find it. Shirt warm and sticky with blood, she darted down stairs, aware of the clamour rising through the stairwell. Emerging onto the fifteenth floor, determination carried Robin to the head of hair in question and to a conference room with the brunette from the elevator, three men in suits and a man in what looked like a Christmas cardigan. Throwing the heavy glass door open, she tried not to sound out of breath.

“Nasreen Pouran?”

The curly haired woman in question swiveled in her chair to give Robin an offended yet startled look,

“Don’t have much time to explain,” Robin began, unzipping the pocket on her sleeve and placing the flash drive onto the glass table, “But I ha-”

The tan skinned man in a suit cut her off with an objective ‘ _ Is that blood? _ ’, which Robin ignored, “Have reason to believe there’s a cartel operating out of Maine.”

Under a wave of dizziness, Robin pressed harder against the wound on her hip and steeled herself with a deep breath, 

“ - think that?”

“Festival season; young people go out, party, do drugs. Informant says his competition is disappearing. Says there’s been a couple arrests and some suicides. I know for a fact cases can take years to build, especially when finding the producer and distributor - so a take down of half a group is suspicious, added the cell suicides? Fishy.”

Ms. Elevator Brunette gave an unconvinced look, “Why does that mean there’s a cartel?”

Robin exhaled heavily, drawing a blank as pressure built in her skin as dizziness crescendoed in her skull, folding in half at the waist in hopes the blood didn’t have to travel far to reach her brain. This didn’t help, as instead her vision became grainy, like rewinding a videotape and her ears popped.   
Robin barely registered the hand on her midback when she had pulled herself together,

“Are you okay?” Mr. Christmas Sweater asked, rolling his chair for her to sit in,

“‘M fine,” she replied dazedly, smearing something wet across her forehead as she pushed her damp bangs out of her face and collapsed into the seat.

Momentarily, she caught herself in the thought of why her bangs were wet in the first place, but forced herself to answer Mr. Serious (aka ‘is that blood’) with an unbothered ‘ _ blood’s mine _ ’.

Nasreen gave an alarmed ‘what happened’, passing a look Robin almost missed as her head spun,

“I got shot - not sure if it’s coincidence or if I’ve been asking too many questions. And I’m  _ so _ sorry for crashing your meeting; ‘sposed to be here Tuesday and didn’t think I had enough time.” Robin grimaced against the nausea, gritting her teeth and hoping it to pass.

“You need to get to a hospital,” Nasreen announced, presumably already texted someone as she stood,

“No health insurance,”

“How do you not have health insurance?” In a black suit stood a guy who looked like a ‘Jason’, who Robin gave a sarcastic yet unimpressed look to Potential Jason, which his coworker, who looked like he could have been a Mike, mirrored.

Despite her unsettled state of mind, Robin did her best to pay attention to what was going on, catching Ms. Elevator promise to cover her medical bills, and giving a ‘thank fuck’ that seemed to swirl in her mouth and catch on her lips. Robin couldn’t recall what the word for ‘words that don’t come out right’, and didn’t bother lingering on the thought as her head rattled more than bells on a cat.

  
  


After her brain dead state, Robin was confused to wake up in a hospital room. Her head swam as she tried to recall what had happened after charging through the bullpen, though it dribbled back to her. With some assistance from Mr. Christmas Sweater and a cute paramedic, she had made it into an ambulance.

Robin had found her wrist handcuffed to the rail of her bed when she had gone to unstick her bangs from her forehead, too tired to care why and instead curled around here cuffed wrist to return to sleep.   
“Hi,” Robin had only just gotten comfortable when Mr. Christmas Sweater entered her room with a cardboard coffee holder thing. She assumed that there were two agents stationed outside her room. Her attempt at a polite greeting didn’t come out right, so she cleared her throat and tried again, bypassing the greeting and getting to business.

“Does my logic make sense? ‘M sorry I couldn’t get the folder but I was on my way to work,”

“No, no, that’s fine. I decrypted the flash drive and I think you raise a lot of interesting points -” Mr. Christmas Sweater turned, yelling ‘ _ Ike _ ’ through the door.

Potentially Jason looked some degree of resigned as he stepped into the room, “Finch?”   
“Can you get Rebecca, please?”

Potentially Jason, now christened Ike, rolled his eyes and left as Brian shouted a thanks, turning to Robin with a self satisfied goofy smile that made Robin’s look of exhaustion look a little perkier.

“Finch?”

“Well, Brian actually,” he corrected, still smiling as he sat back in his chair with a laptop to which Robin tsked at,

“I’m Robin,”

“We’re birds of a feather,” he mused lapsing into comfortable silence.

“I’ve been thinking, uh,” Brian hummed for her to continue, “Someone broke in a couple days ago and trashed my apartment. I’ve been going through everything and it kinda looks like things were stolen, but as an afterthought? If that makes sense?”

“You think they were searching for your files?”

“The paper copy is pretty shit, though. Most of it is on the drive and I saved it to my computer, too, but I doubt they could get in unless they brute forced it.”

Brian leaned forward in his seat, “What was missing?”

“The dog, paper copy, laptop, some jewellery -”

“They took your dog?” He sounded personally offended at the revelation, the look of surprise turning to scowl, “Did you report this?”

“ _ Nope _ .” Robin sensed he would ask why not, answering the question herself, “It’s not even my apartment, I’m just dog sitting. People I know aren’t likely to turn to the police if something goes wrong.”

Brian looked deep in thought, spacing out for a few minutes while Robin went over the past day, recounting all the aches and pains as Brian probably pieced together whatever she couldn’t.

“Are they ransoming the dog?” Robin shook her head, watching as Brian poked his head out the door and told Ike and his partner (as agents always came in pairs) to call Naz and get her to sign off on Robin staying at the safehouse.   
  



End file.
